Eyes of a Killer
by JjongandMe
Summary: Natasha can't rid herself of the look in her eyes. You can't run from yourself, can you? Clintasha friendship, one-shot. Warning: Self-harm involved. R&R please!


The Eyes of a Killer

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Natasha stared into the mirror, into her eyes, the ones that others had seen as their last sight.

She hated herself, she hated her life. If only she was a normal citizen, nothing to worry about. Just have a normal job, normal family, and normal life.

'_If only.' _Natasha bit her lip, and reached for the blade that she kept beside her bed at all times.

'_Don't do it Nat.'_

'_Why should I stop?'_

By now the knife had penetrated her skin, causing the slightest bit of blood to come out.

'_Clint won't be happy.'_

'_I don't deserve him.'_

The war between her and her conscious continued, but she didn't stop.

'_Come on, Nat. Go to the training room; go get some fresh air, anything but this.'_

'_Too late.'_

She was skimming the knife along her hand, leaving bloody trails as she went along.

'_It's not too late. Come on, put down the knife, and soak up the blood.'_

'_I just want to die. I'm a monster, can't you see?'_

Natasha shuddered at the feeling of the knife on her skin.

'_No, you're not a monster. You're Natasha, the woman that has Clint, and the person who has friends beside her.'_

'_They're only friends with me because their scared of what I'll do if they aren't my friends.'_

The bloody trails formed a web, and Natasha continued to skim the knife above the web.

'_Please stop, there are people who want you to be alive.'_

'_Like who?'_

'_Clint, he wants you to stay. Just scream and he'll be here to help you. Trust me.'_

She let out a scream, realizing that the bed and her clothes were now soaked in blood, her blood.

The door opened, and Clint was there, shocked at the sight in front of him. "Oh Natasha..." He murmured, walking over to her bloodied self.

He slowly reached for her arm, knowing that even at this stage the assassin could probably kill him. When Natasha didn't pull her hand away, Clint hesitantly removed the blade from her hands and put it back on the bedside table.

Natasha sobbed and cried, hating herself for looking like an idiot to Clint. The blood had been cleaned off by Clint, who was still applying medicine to the wounds.

"Why would you do this to yourself?" Clint whispered, holding up her arm, which now was forming scars over the intricate web.

"I'm a monster, Clint. Why do you even care for me? You should have just shot me when you had the chance." Natasha cried, and her body wracked in sobs.

Clint just shook his head, letting her rest her head on his chest. "You're not a monster, Nat. I care for you because I face the same thing you do. This isn't easy, considering our line of work." He muttered his voice almost silent.

She didn't stop crying, and Clint stayed there, patient with her breakdown. After what seemed like half an hour to Clint, Natasha stopped crying.

Natasha had cried all her tears out, and all she could do at that point was staring at her arm. The decision had seemed like a good one at the time, but it wasn't proving to have a great aftermath.

"You must think I'm an idiot." Natasha whispered, knowing that Clint had probably fallen asleep, tired of the red-head's sobbing.

Instead, Clint proved her wrong, saying, "I do think that you're an idiot for doing this. You're living a pretty good life. You have me, Tony, Steve, Bruce, Fury, Hill, and more." He raised his hand, using his fingers to count how many people that Natasha had at her side.

She gave a ghost of a smile, thanking herself that she stopped in time to have Clint comfort her.

"And of course you have Betty, and Pepper! Those two could be your girlfriends. Just for shopping, sleepovers, or whatever the heck you girls do." Clint fake scoffed, knowing that what he just said would tick off Natasha even further.

"Ha ha, very funny, Barton. You know that I'm not into that sort of stuff. I would rather have someone that I could train with, or spar with," Natasha paused, thinking of one of the Avenger's friends that might. "Peggy would have. But... she's not exactly here right now." She said with a pang of sorrow for Steve.

Clint nodded, and he slowly got up from his position next to Natasha. "I'm going to get you some more medicine for your wounds." He frowned at the scars that it was forming, but he left the room anyways.

'_I told you, Natasha. He IS there for you. So whenever you're feeling down, you can just call for him, and he'll be there.'_

Natasha smiled as Barton returned, with a cup of warm water in one hand and medicine in the other. She glanced at his eyes, knowing that they were also the eyes of a killer, an assassin.

"You did it because you wanted a normal life. Am I right, Natasha?" Clint spoke out of the blue, and Natasha nearly spilt her water.

She silently glared at him, thinking, _'How'd he know? He's not supposed to know.' _Natasha huffed, and put down her water.

"And by the way you were looking at my eyes; you were thinking that I'm a killer as well." Clint continued, making sure that he added every detail that he possibly could have seen.

Natasha looked down at her feet, which still had blood on it. "You also want to get changed. You really need to stop giving these things away, you know?" Clint sighed, got up, and walked over to her closet.

He pulled out a simple black t-shirt, and a pair of skinny jeans. After a little pause, he grabbed a necklace that had the simple word 'Smile!' on it.

Natasha was looking at him the entire time, and laughed humourlessly when he pulled out the necklace. "I got that from so long ago, before I was taken by the Red Room. I don't think that even fits on my neck anymore."

Clint walked back to the bed, and placed the 'necklace' on her wrist. It fit perfectly. "Don't take that off until your scars have healed. All of them." He then proceeded to take a pen and draw a little butterfly on her other arm, the one that didn't have scars.

"That's so childish, why would you draw that?" Natasha questioned, reaching for the pen. "Name it Clint. Go on." He urged.

She hesitantly wrote 'Clint' above the butterfly. "Now you're a butterfly." Natasha laughed, this time with a spark in her eyes.

Clint smiled. "It's called the butterfly project. If you know someone who's cutting, draw a butterfly on their arm, and name it after someone you love. You can't kill a butterfly, especially not one that's your loved one." He explained.

Natasha scoffed. "The black widow kills butterflies for food."

"Would you eat a butterfly that was me?"

"...No." She averted her eyes from his.

Satisfied with his answer, Clint said, "Exactly. Now would you kill a butterfly that was named Tony?"

She laughed. "Yes. Kill it, skewer it, and roast it over a fire."

Clint blinked, surprised. "Okay then. I think I've explained the butterfly project far enough." He laughed along with her.

Natasha looked at his eyes again. These weren't the eyes of a killer anymore. They were bright, twinkling with laughter. If she didn't know better, she would have thought that he had the eyes of a normal citizen.

"Can I get changed now?" She asked out of the laughter, and reached for the clothes that Clint had picked out for her.

Clint nodded, and looked at the window, giving Natasha some privacy. Since Natasha hated the bathroom, complaining that it was, 'stinky', she always changed in her bedroom.

Natasha sighed as she slid onto the bed after changing. "Thank you, Clint." She whispered fairly quietly.

"You're very welcome." Clint whispered just as quietly back.

"You know, I would almost never trust someone with the eyes of a killer." Natasha said, and looked at his eyes again.

This time, Natasha could see the gray-blue of his eyes, and see the pain that he endured before, the happiness that he had, and the sad times he had. Nowhere in there could Natasha see the eyes of a killer.

"I don't have them anymore, not when I'm with you," Clint muttered, "I have the eyes of Clint Barton right now."

Natasha let out a weak smile, and nodded. "And I rid myself of the eyes of a killer."

-x- END –x-

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A/N: I like one-shots and Clintasha too much. Well, this one doesn't have that much romance, but it sort of implies it. I was listening to Three Days Grace and this came to mind. Sorry if you don't like it, but any *positive or constructive* feedback would be nice. This story was originally going to be named, "Pain" due to the current song I was listening to at that moment, but eventually I changed my mind and decided the current title I'm using would be a bit better. Thanks for reading!

As much as I want to say that I own Marvel Universe or the image, I don't. No copyright intended! I'm just another little fan-girl doodling images of the Avengers in her notebook.


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